


Hit First, Hit Hardest

by Ranni



Series: All the Ways [3]
Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Depression, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Insomnia, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, POV Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Is a Good Bro, Protective Pepper Potts, Team as Family, Thor Is Not Stupid, Thor Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark and his Bots - Freeform, manic behavior, self doubt, so many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 18:44:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranni/pseuds/Ranni
Summary: While it lasts. The 'while it lasts' is implied in almost everything the Avengers say and do. Tony can't help but hold pieces of himself back, so that when everything invariably ends he'll have something left, something that won't be lost.orTony understands machines, math, and science. He has a harder time understanding why everyone has trust issues, why his boyfriend won't leave the apartment, and why his new bots act like baby ducks.(All stories in this series can be read independently)





	Hit First, Hit Hardest

  
*******

Tony starts to get tired around one in the morning, but he's on a roll with the new bots and doesn't want to quit mid-solder. The next thing he knows it's past three a.m., and he's no longer tired, having missed that rare intersection of 'want to go to bed' and 'can actually sleep'. He shrugs it off and keeps working. Every once in awhile he knocks over a tumbler full of screws for Dum-E to pick up laboriously, giving a halfhearted snort of approval whenever this is accomplished.

He's been working on a twinned pair of small robots the last few days and is finally hitting the sweet spot, where they're almost alive. He hasn't quite figured out what they'll _do_ yet, but their purpose is really incidental, because they're gonna be awesome.

"JARVIS, we need to puzzle out some names for our new pals. Play some Ramones and help me come up with dynamic duos." He snaps his fingers. "Hand me that socket wrench," he barks at Butterfingers, gesturing toward it while simultaneously knocking over the screws again for Dum-E. "Thelma and Louise. Statler and Waldorf. Milo and Otis."

"Romulus and Remus." JARVIS' voice is calm over the blaring music. "Siegfried and Roy. Simon and Garfunkel. Old Dan and Little Ann."

" _Now_ you're getting into the spirit of things. Siskel and Ebert. Samson and Delilah. Xylem and Phloem. Merry and Pippin."

"Bebop and Rocksteady," comes a voice from behind, nearly startling Tony right off his stool. Bruce winces and smiles apologetically.

"Brucie bear! I didn't know you were still up."

"Still up? I just finished my morning coffee. Steve's been jogging and Clint and Natasha have already finished beating each other bloody in the training room. Just another day in paradise." Bruce smiles wryly as Tony laughs, a bit too loudly. "We have a meeting with Fury later this afternoon," he adds meaningfully.

"Well, gee, I can't wait for _that_. JARVIS, order an assortment of cheeses for that meeting. No crackers or vegetables, just cheese--the most shocking variety and quantity available. If there's a kind that makes people extra gassy, more's the better."

"Yes, sir."

Bruce sighs. "I bring it up not for food considerations, but because I thought you might want to take a nap or something beforehand."

"Why? I'm just hitting my stride, and now that you're here we can dial this thing up to eleventy!"

Bruce just stares and waits until Tony starts to feel fidgety and foolish.

"Oh, _fine_ ," he says, tossing his gloves down glumly. "JARVIS, wake me up if anything happens, and try to delay anything _really_ awesome from happening until I get there." He saunters out, pausing to knock over the tumbler one last time for Dum-E, Bruce gaping in surprise as tiny screws explode all over the floor.

He's maybe more tired than he had realized; by the time he gets to his bedroom he's stumbling, then falls into bed and sleeps the same way he does everything else--hard.

 

*******

"You know, I could have won you over using just song titles."

Clint raises an eyebrow. "I doubt that very much."

He and Tony make sense, beyond the physical attraction. Clint could not care less about Stark Industries or any of the tech, beyond what affects the Avengers or his day to day life. He doesn't ask about Tony's work beyond a polite curiosity, as uninterested in it as Tony is in archery or the minutiae of SHIELD operations. Tony can appreciate what Clint does and admire it, but doesn't care to know what the fingertip thingies he wears while shooting are really called, or to hear about the SHIELD briefing Clint attended regarding some alarming discoveries of canine/human DNA combinations.

...Okay, he  _had_ been a little interested in that one.

What they have is easy. Clint is often gone for weeks at a time on missions, and Tony is fine with it, the same way Clint understands when Tony is holed up in his workshop running with a good idea. It's easy and uncomplicated, something fun and not all tangled up with demands and expectations.

"I could seduce you, right now, exclusively with AC/DC songs," Tony insists. "AC/DC is not subtle. They don't bother with sexual innuendo; they throw sex right in your face."

"Gross," Clint observes mildly. He swirls his drink around in the glass, mixing it a little. "Alright. Let's hear you woo me via song titles."

"I didn't say woo, I said _seduce_." Tony knocks back his own drink and leans in closer to be sure he can be heard over the driving beat of the club. He likes loud music, but this place might just leave them with permanent hearing damage. His lips are so close to Clint's ear they almost touch. "Are You Ready?" he purrs.

"Yeah, lay it on me."

"That was actually my first salvo--the song is called 'Are You Ready'," Tony says in his normal voice. He shrugs in a 'neither here nor there' gesture, then drops back into a sexy growl. "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. Big Balls. Touch Too Much. Caught with Your Pants Down. Big Jack. Sink the Pink. Deep in the Hole." Tony puts his forehead to Clint's temple, winding his hand around to caress the other side of his face. "Inject the Venom," he whispers triumphantly, and bites Clint's earlobe.

Clint laughs and pulls away, his eyes bright from more than alcohol. "Oh God, you were right. I'm Thunderstruck."

Tony's grin is crooked with delight. Clint's great. _They're_ great.

Now all Tony needs to do is not ruin it.

 

********

That's Tony's biggest problem, and always has been--that he pushes everyone firmly away, even as he's wondering why they don't come closer. They all leave, every single one. He either drives them away before they decide to do it on their own, or he moves forward so aggressively and oppressively that they run away.

Pepper had held on the longest, but even that didn't last. "I won't leave you," she promised. "I love you and want to be a part of your life. But I can't be your _everything_ , Tony. It's too much for me."

He exhausts people, wears them down. His brain and his mouth both run faster than everyone else's; as if he's racing a sports car while everyone else pedals calmly behind on bicycles. He wants to open up the engine, tear up the road, but he also doesn't want to be alone. He tries to slow down and stay with everyone else, but it's almost impossible.

Now there are Avengers living in his Tower. He wants to keep them. Wants them to be happy. Wants to hold onto this thing they have together.

They are odd people. All of their unusual habits and vaguely unhealthy responses to things are actually coping mechanisms that have allowed them to get this far in life, to survive their various trials and make it here. Here, where they can finally be--if Tony Stark has anything to say about it--safe and comfortable.

While it lasts.

The 'while it lasts' is implied in almost everything they say and do.

Bruce goes barefoot whenever possible, digging his toes into carpets. He runs his hands along smooth countertops, over soft blankets, lingers in patches of sunlight with his eyes closed. When he comes across one of the others he sits beside them. After years living on the run, of being terrified to settle down and let anyone in, Bruce savors every luxury and bit of companionship he gets.

While they last.

Natasha, trained her entire life to be suspicious, traces her finger along the edge of her spoons, subtlety checking for sharp edges. At first she brought home small treasures with her eyes flashing and chin out, waiting to be challenged, for someone to try and take them from her. Waited for the rest of them to turn this new friendship to their advantage and make her weak. Then something changed and she relaxed a bit, now seems content to let it play out, to try and enjoy it.

While it lasts.

For a long while Clint had been only half present; a cheerful charade with a loud laugh and sad eyes. He has a rueful grin, a half smile, as if part of him can't help but be hopeful while the rest of him suspects it is pointless. But still he plows forward through life with his mouth set stubbornly, grasping whatever piece of happiness he can.

For as long as it lasts.

They all tease Steve mercilessly, endlessly, but would outright murder anyone else who attempted the same. Tony has never had a brother but recognizes that proprietary feeling anyway, that sense of "Only _we_ are allowed to give him grief". Steve overplans, overthinks, runs through training and scenarios until the others are exhausted, and it's never enough for him. Steve has lost everyone he ever had, and like Tony he is determined not to lose his new family, determined to protect them, to hang onto each one of them as hard as he can, for as long as he can.

And that's the terrifying part. Because people, even strong people, are fragile, and the one thing certain to _never_ last.

 

*******

There are patterns everywhere and Tony finds them easily--except when they have anything to do with interpersonal relationships. So it takes a little while before he notices that Clint usually only seeks him out late at night, and then he's amused, thinking it's an Avengers equivalent of a bootycall.

They're watching television while stretched out on the couch in Tony's apartment when it comes to him, Tony nestled back in the cushions with his feet on the coffee table, Clint laying lengthwise along the couch, upper body pressed into Tony's side. Clint laughs at someone taking a pratfall on the screen, his hand scrambling blindly for another handful of popcorn from the bowl balanced on his stomach. And suddenly, apropos of nothing, Tony realizes these pre-dawn visits are really about.

"This is nice," he observes, feeling off-center all of a sudden, like he might fall, even though he's pinned securely by his boyfriend's bodyweight.

"Yeah," Clint answers absently. He props his foot up on the armrest. There's a hole in the toe of his sock and Tony blinks at it, as if it means something.

This _is_ nice. It's peaceful.

Tony doesn't do peaceful very well. He's been on the go with a project or disaster since the day he started thinking, everything he is telling him to move fast, talk fast, think the most, hit first, hit hardest. Turning his brain off has never been an option, but it does slow way down at the end of the day, as the hours grow dark and then light again, when his endurance starts to fade.

Clint has his fair share of sleeping issues but this pattern has been too frequent to be anything but planned. He isn't appearing at two and three in the morning only to get into Tony's bed--though he's certainly welcome and wanted there--but to have _this_ , a slower time to be together, to hang out in the way that Tony is hardly able to do during the day, when his brain is buzzing.

"Don't you have to be at SHIELD training thing early tomorrow?" Tony glances at the clock. "Or _today_ , I mean?" Clint makes a noncommittal noise and he warns, "You're gonna be super tired, Tweetie Bird."

"Oh well." Clint shrugs, the 'It's worth it' unspoken but somehow still spinning out into the air.

 _Weird_ is what it is. _Unexpected_ is what it is. Tony had Pepper and Rhodey before, but he's still unused to people not wanting something from him. People want money. People want what he can build. People want what Tony can give them. There aren't many people breaking down the door to simply be _with_  him.

Clint catches the silence and tips his head back to look up questioningly. Tony moves his thumb along the stubble of Clint's cheek, tries to smile.

 _This is sort of like love_ , Tony almost says, but doesn't. Doesn't dare, because it might spoil the mood, or worse--it might ruin everything, destroy this fun, easy thing they have going if Tony reaches too far. Better to just enjoy this moment.

While it lasts.

 

*******

"I still maintain that if the fire is not blue or green, there's nothing to be worried about! Jesus, _look_ at this!" Tony swipes halfheartedly at the extinguishing foam covering the table, smearing it around more than cleaning.

Bruce rolls his eyes and looks ready to begin one of his even-voiced tirades when one of the tiny robots knocks sightlessly into his shin. "Hey, you," he says, stooping down and peering at them curiously, as if they were children. Tony supposes that Bruce would pat their heads, if they had any heads to pat. "Tony, what do these guys even _do_?"

"Nothing, yet. Maybe I'll program them to help clip toenails. Or to cuff pants. Is there a niche market for that, do you think?"

"I find it interesting that you created two complete robots without even having a purpose in mind." Bruce nudges one of them with his toe and it presses against his shoe almost affectionately.

Tony frowns and makes another pass with the towel, then throws up his hands. "Well, _this_ is a loss; might as well scrap the whole thing. Bruce, you life ruining, safety obsessed _shithead_! There was barely even a fire!"

"Tell that to your eyebrows." Bruce's true superpower is actually a high tolerance for Tony's bullshit, an ability to ignore his impulsive mouthiness. He nods back at the bots. "Did you ever come up with names for them?"

"Righty-Tighty and Lefty-Loosey." Tony gives up and laughs along with Bruce. He glances once more at the foam covered mess on the table, dismisses it. The rebuild will be just as fun, as long as Bruce is here. Tony picks up a screwdriver and the little robots immediately scatter; even Dum-E and Butterfingers go still in an attempt to remain unnoticed.

"Come on, Banner--those baby bots are fast little bastards. I say we chase 'em, and give the power of flight to the first one we catch."

 

*******

There's another pattern, an unhappy one that Tony recognizes immediately.

Clint and Natasha are preparing to head out on a SHIELD mission, and there's a whole rhythm to it that begins well in advance. It starts small and subtle, no more than a switch over to unscented soap, shampoo, laundry detergent. Then their sparring and training starts to takes on a grim tone as they hit harder and faster, aiming for tender spots they used to avoid. They eat less and less, getting their bodies re-used to deprivation, back to a place where hunger is easily ignored. And as the mission grows nearer they become curt and snappish, leaning hard into one another and pushing the others away, making themselves less Natasha and Clint, becoming more the Black Widow and Hawkeye.

This routine was easier for Tony to tolerate when he hadn't been dating one of them; now he vacillates between trying to give Clint space and trying to spend as much time as he can with him. He refuses to add the 'just in case' to that idea--that 'just in case Clint doesn't come back', that 'just in case he dies'.

And all too soon it's Hawkeye that comes to Tony's workshop in full uniform, black on black on black, knives and lockpicks tucked into hidden pockets, bow and quiver on his back. "I'm out. A week at headquarters, then two, maybe three, in the field." He sighs at Tony's expression. "You _knew_ that. I told you."

"I just thought we had more time." Tony tosses his goggles to the table and moves closer, Righty and Lefty trailing after him like a pair of baby ducks. He kicks absently at them and they go to hide behind Clint's legs, tittering in confusion when he ignores them completely. "Be safe, alright? Don't...don't get killed or anything." He tries to make it sound like a joke and can't quite pull it off.

"I won't. Don't blow yourself up. Or start any wars."

"God, at least ask for a promise I can keep." Tony grins and Clint smiles back, but it's distant, a smile for a stranger. Tony tugs on the strap of his quiver. "Hey," he says awkwardly. " _Hey_."

There's no mistaking or misunderstanding the warning look in Clint's eyes, or the way he takes a deliberate step backward.

There isn't any room for sentiment, there's only the mission, doing what must be done, living through it, coming back. There's nothing left for Tony, not now. During missions Clint and Natasha save any small bit of humanity only for each other, the one person they have to depend on when the bullets fly, the pressure builds, and the horror starts.

"Alright." Tony lets go reluctantly, disappointed in himself, angry that Clint won't allow himself to be comforted, won't move to provide any comfort himself. "I'll be here when you get back."

 

*******

"What's up, Fearless Leader?" Tony has JARVIS turn down the music in the lab slightly in concession to Steve's pained look.

"I need your final answer on the appreciation ceremony in Colombia tomorrow."

" _Ugh_. Negatory, Cap." Tony prefers his own parties, the ones he throws and controls--who is there, what they are doing, when everyone will leave. He shows up at those parties in the loudest manner possible, then slips away silently, when everyone is having such a good time that nobody notices.

"Tony." Steve looks disappointed and Tony almost-- _almost--_ feels bad, but Steve looks disappointed in him so frequently that the expression has lost much of its gravitas. "Clint and Natasha can't be there; it would be nice if you came along."

"How about a lackluster 'maybe' that's actually a hard 'no' in disguise? We can just both pretend and make ourselves feel better." Steve sighs and Tony sighs back, louder. "Expressions of gratitude make me go a great big rubbery one." He had gone and helped clear out the threat to Medellin, had donated money and resources toward the cleanup afterward. He sees no need to keep dredging the thing up; it's over, it's done.

"It's important to let people say 'thank you'," Steve tells him. "Important to make ourselves hear it."

"I'll just send an Iron Man suit and let JARVIS drive it. That's what people want to see; it can stand there and look heroic while they applaud, then fly away dramatically. They'll think I'm the strong, silent type and go nuts."

"Okay, okay." Steve's barely concealed frustration reminds Tony far too much of his own parents. "Bruce and I will take care of it; you just...do your thing. It's fine."

 

*******

The next week Tony's gone from the Tower also, off to Colorado with Pepper. He doesn't especially thrill in the business aspect of things, but he does enjoy the showmanship of it, enjoys embodying the over the top Tony Stark persona that everyone seems to love. He jokingly patronizes, he flirts obnoxiously, he whips the idiots into a slobbering frenzy to the point where his ideas are the only ones they'll accept. Once it had been weaponry he'd sold them; now it is clean energy, world restoratives. That he has to _sell_ that idea is beyond ridiculous--in Tony's idealized world the best thinkers would not be creating erectile dysfunction pills and handheld gaming systems. They'd put their heads together and save the world, _then_ worry about all the flaccid penises.

Of course, that's easy for _him_ to say; his junk still works.

He takes Pepper to the restaurant that the hotel recommends and pokes fun at her recent vegetarianism with a steak so rare it's almost inedible.

"How's the team?" she asks. They've talked shop for days, but it's the first time she's asked after the Avengers. He's not sure if she legitimately doesn't care or if she's jealous and trying not to be obvious about it.

"Good. Only Bruce is home; everyone else is kind of scattered, doing their own thing. Our assassins are doing some wetwork for SHIELD, Thor is up in his little piece of heaven, and Steve is off on some personal venture. Maybe he's going to write emo poetry about life on the back of a motorcycle or something, I don't know."

"How are things with Clint?" Her voice is suddenly more careful, and he knows that tone well. Something he doesn't like is sure to follow.

"Awesome. Amazing. Shockingly athletic in bed. I don't even have to work out anymore." She doesn't need to know about the stilted way they parted, the way Tony stomped around afterward, driving even Bruce away.

"He's a nice guy," Pepper says, ignoring his warning look, "and so funny. But Tony, he's not right for you. You need someone strong that can keep up with your latest schemes."

 _To take care of you_ , he hears, _and not vice versa_. 

"You don't know anything about him," he snaps angrily. "I also feel compelled to point out that _you_ left _me_. You broke _my_ heart, and that was the day you forfeited any say you ever had in my love life, Pep."

But she isn't finished. " _All_ of them, actually, aren't good for you. They're broken, and you can't stick an ARC reactor in to make up for whatever they're missing. They'll take everything you have, emotionally, and you still won't be able to save them." She reaches across the table, wraps her fingers gently around his wrist when he doesn't reach back. "Then you'll be lost, too. I can't let that happen. I care about you too much."

She doesn't understand. Can't understand the way it is with the team, the way they work with one another. How they laugh and joke through one another's highs and grit their teeth through the lows. Tony's entire life has been a high for over a year, since the Avengers moved in, and he's almost allowed himself to believe the crash back down will never come. That this is his life now, and that eventually he'll pull the rest of them up with him, and _keep_ them there.

"I've always taken care of you," Pepper says. "You need someone to do that, and I don't think the Avengers are a good choice. They all need someone to complete them. That someone shouldn't have to be you."

"It _could_ be me," he says, not believing it himself, but damned if he'll let _her_ know that. "Might as well be me as anybody."

"It won't last," she warns sadly. "They won't stay, Tony."

"Neither did you."

 

********

He's in a pretty sour mood after that, even more so when Clint and Natasha return from their mission and immediately disappear into their apartment, refusing to see any of the others. Tony is equal parts worried and angry, growling at everything and everyone. Steve just sighs and Bruce raises his eyebrows the third time Tony calls the coffee maker a 'goddamned Nazi bastard'.

"Hey, Steve, you want to run away together?" Bruce asks.

"Yes, _please_. Where should we go?"

"Any place where the people are friendlier than this lot have been the last few weeks. So...a super max prison? A Hydra base? A sorority house during Hell Week? All valid options."

"Oh ho ho. You two are hilarious." Tony clutches his coffee and glares at how bitter it tastes. Decides it might be fun to gut the coffee maker rather than fix it.

"I think we should--" Steve starts to say, then interrupts the thought with a yelped "What the _hell_!" He stands quickly, one of the small bots clings to his pant leg with tiny pincers. "You startled me," he scolds, plucking it off carefully and setting it on the ground.

It toddles toward Tony, who scowls at it. "Get lost, Righty. Where's your brother?" He peers under the table suspiciously and sees nothing. "Oh God, he's laying in wait somewhere. Lefty's the one you have to watch out for--he's sinister."

"Why would you make an evil robot?" Steve asks, eyeing the floor warily.

"I didn't. It's sort of an organic character growth kind of thing. But don't worry, it's a benign evil. More of a _capacity_ for evil. Much like our resident spy kids possess."

"Speaking of..." Bruce trails off meaningfully.

"I know." Tony slams his mug down with unnecessary force. 

"It's been three days. I'm worried."

"I _know_."

"I called Director Fury," Steve says, "and he said to just leave them be. That they aren't hurt. But not coming out, not talking to anyone? That's concerning." He sighs and nods toward Tony. "I'd think that Clint would've seen _you_ at least."

"Well, he hasn't. I just got a message from Natasha, relayed through JARVIS, to leave them the hell alone." He shrugs defensively at their unhappy faces. "What else can we do but respect that? I mean, we _have_ to, right? Give them space if they need it? They don't want us beating down their door."

Bruce frowns. "Maybe they do."

 

*******

It's one of those rare nights where the workshop isn't any fun; he's too restless to enjoy it, and there's no idea new enough to wholly capture his attention. Tony decides to enjoy the novelty of eating and heads to the community kitchen, not really expecting to run anyone at this late hour, nearly coming out of his skin when he runs facefirst into a solid wall of human.

Or...not. Because it's Thor.

"Holy _shit_ , Thunderball!" He laughs and punches Thor's arm. "I almost had a heart attack!"

"I did not intend to arrive in the dark hours, but these things are hard to plan exactingly."

"You're welcome any time, you know that."

Tony is an abysmal cook, but the fridge is always full of leftovers, and after a few exploratory peeks and sniffs he scrounges up a pretty decent spread. They eat in companionable silence for awhile before Tony asks, "So how's your lady doing?"

Thor is the teammate they see they least, splitting his time between his duties on Asgard and his relationships on Earth. It's admirable, really, how he weighs them all the same, as equally important and deserving of his care and attention.

"Jane is well. It was her birthday, and I gave her a pendant with our names carved upon it. She seemed happy, but wept, the way your people do sometimes."

"Yeah, that's a thing." Tony opens an unmarked container and spears a bite of what he hopes is chicken. "Did you take her somewhere nice?"

"I would have done, but that is not what she wanted. We listened to music. She played songs that were important to her, told stories about them."

Tony shrugs. "To each their own, I guess." If it were Clint's birthday Tony would have dragged him out to a club, one with music loud enough to drown out any self doubts, so dark he wouldn't have to read and interpret facial expressions. It would just be sound and movement and nothing to worry about.

Thor pushes away from the table. "I didn't understand it at first. Your people aren't like mine--you live only so briefly before you burn out. I'm sure some days may seem an eternity, but it is all so fleeting. I could not understand how everyone could not want to live urgently for every second that you _do_ have."

"Yes," Tony says suddenly, startled. That feeling of going too fast and marveling at everyone else's sedate pace, wondering why no one else seemed to feel that compulsion, that drive. " _Yes_." It's surprising to have it verbalized by someone else, and for that person to be, of all people, Thor.

"But I have come to understand. Now I see. It's the quiet moments--words murmured before falling asleep, a hand on a shoulder, a shared story. They are not the respite from living, Tony, they are the _rewards_."

And there it is. Tony wants desperately to diffuse the moment, because it hurts, because it's real in a way that feels dangerous, underscoring the fragility of everything.

"It doesn't last," he blurts out, unable to stop himself. " _None_ of it lasts."

"No," Thor says sadly. "It doesn't."

 

*******

Tony usually waits for people to come looking for him in his own spaces, but this time it won't be that way. Something bad has happened, and Clint isn't coming. Tony steels himself with a drink and goes to the assassins' shared apartment, where he has been many times, but never like this, never uninvited.

He forgoes communicating through JARVIS in favor of more old fashioned method; he knocks on the door. When there's no answer, he knocks _and_ kicks, then escalates to pounding and kicking. Finally the door cracks open a few inches and Natasha peeks out, her face swollen and almost unrecognizable. For a moment Tony thinks Fury was wrong and she was hurt after all, or is ill, then realizes it's something far worse.

She's been crying.

"Natasha---" He starts to say something else and can't, horrified by how unhappy and strangely vulnerable she looks. For the first time since he's known her--the _real_ her, and not as a blushing Natalie Rushman--she looks fragile and human, like someone who could actually be broken. Tony doesn't like it; he prefers his Natasha Romanov angry and haughty and kicking ass. This one is terrifying in a whole new way.

She ignores his aborted greeting. "I _told_ you. This is...not a good time."

"That's exactly why I need to be here."

 

*******

"It's me. It's Tony."

He picks his way through the dim room to the bed and climbs in, fitting his knees behind Clint's, pulls the other man up close against his chest. Usually Clint is as cuddly as a litter of puppies, but now he's so tense it's like curling up next to a bundle of sticks. There's a rumpled quilt on the other side of the bed, and Tony supposes that a few minutes ago Natasha had been under it. His arrival has driven her away, chased her away not only from comforting her partner, but also from receiving any herself. He feels bad about that, but not enough to make himself leave. He can't, not when someone he cares so much about is hurting.

"Clint?" he whispers. "You okay?"

"Mmm." 

"Come on. _Talk_ to me." Tony tugs him closer. "I'm a human dreamcatcher," he adds softly, his attempt to sound lighthearted falling flat in the unnerving silence. "Tell me your bad dreams and they'll get caught in my web of awesome, won't bother you anymore."

"Oh yeah?" There's a wavering grin in Clint's voice, too, but mostly he just sounds sad. So fucking sad.

"Yeah."

Clint doesn't say anything for a long time, and just as Tony is convinced that he's not going to, there's a quiet "It wasn't... _we_ weren't--" he speaks haltingly, as if the narrative is unfathomable. "There were _children_ ," Clint forces out finally, voice breaking, and Tony grips him tighter. "We didn't...The intel was... We were three days too late...none of them left. Just little handprints...all over the walls."

He sounds so tired, so utterly defeated, and there's that pain again in Tony's chest, as if someone stuck the tip of an ice pick there and gave it a wicked twist. "God," Tony whispers. " _God_. We live in such an ugly world." 

Clint makes a _hmm_ ing sound and reaches back a little, hooks his fingers into the collar of Tony's shirt. 

 _Wanna talk some more?_ Tony thinks he should say, but it's obvious that Clint doesn't. That he can't. Not yet.

 _It's going to be okay_ is his second choice, but he doesn't know that, not really. And, really, Tony doesn't half believe that himself.

 _I'll make it all better_ is what he longs to promise.

Tony Stark can give. He does so freely and often, gives with both hands open. To offer someone a present, hear their thank you, see their smile--those are the transactions he understands. Not so much this kind, where he attempts to comfort and it doesn't help, where he struggles to say right words only to find they never make anything better.

 _They'll take everything you have_ , he hears Pepper say, _and you still won't be able to save them._

She knows him so well. Knows that Tony can't help but hold pieces of himself back, so that when everything invariably ends he'll have something left, something that won't be lost. He had fixed his own broken heart, once upon a time, when he'd created the Iron Man suit and was with Pepper, and then again when a motley group of strangers moved into his home.

But he can't fix them, can't mold himself along their broken edges and smooth them out. And maybe Pepper is right, and they _will_ take everything he has emotionally, but they can only ever take what Tony would willingly give anyway. He can't save them, but he can try. He can risk his own heart in exchange for those quiet moments of peace, where love actually lives.

Tony presses his forehead to the back of Clint's neck, and instead of empty promises says the one thing he knows is actually true, the only thing he can offer in this moment, while this moment lasts.

"I'm _here_ ," he says. "I love you, and I'm here."

*******


End file.
